


Betrayal

by YoGrossDude



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Characters fighting, Dark Shiro (Voltron), F/M, Major Character Injury, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Panic Attacks, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoGrossDude/pseuds/YoGrossDude
Summary: Shiro is turned against Team Voltron. Allura must stop him. A life and death struggle, and what comes after.





	1. Turned

**Author's Note:**

> me: Seasons 3's coming out tomorrow! You should totally post that weird angsty possessed Shiro shallura garbage you wrote back in March!
> 
> also me: (whispering) brilliant
> 
> I used the Dark Shiro tag for this but I see it is mostly used for erotica so I do apologize if I have ruined a perfectly good porn tag.
> 
> Note: Things get bad but no one dies.

The door slams down shut behind her, and Allura hears the other Paladins scream in protest, almost in near unison, through the thick metal. Coran’s voice pierces through their panic, low and focused.

_No._ Without tearing her eyes away from the figure in front of her, she slams a heavy fist against the instrument panel to her left. It cracks and sparks under the impact; her hand stings in reply. Coran's voice returns, taut and frantic now, and the door, thankfully, doesn't budge. Allura allows herself a slow exhale. They will be safe.

She focuses on Shiro.

He is crouched, huddling, at the end of the corridor, her dearest Paladin. The entirety of his right arm is glowing, not the bright pink she’s familiar with, but the deep red-purple of corrupted quintessence.

“Shiro,” she says firmly, her tone authoritative, part warning, part command. There's no chance for it to reach him through whatever Haggar has done to him, she knows, she _knows_ , but part of her still wants so badly for it to work she must at least try. Training shifts her into a combat stance, hands up.

It startles her enough to flinch when he suddenly looks up and locks eyes with her. His eyes match the light emanating from his arm, the energy bleeding from them in sparking wisps. His expression slides from desperate fear into raw, naked fury as he staggers to his feet.

Her mind conjures an old, familiar memory: shortly after their first meeting, informing him that his bayard was lost, the slow, tired smile he gave in reply.

_I guess I'll just have to make due._

Her stomach lurches.

It's not fair, screams a plaintive little voice inside her, it’s not _fair_ , to lose him again, to lose him _now_ , after everything they've gone through, when there are a hundred thousand things she still wants to tell him, when she never got the chance to say --

His boots tap, tap, _tap_ , on the floor as he draws closer.

“Shiro, _don't_ ,” and this time it's a low growl, hissed through clenched teeth. He doesn't stop, whipping his metal arm out to his side, and she can feel the heat from here.

Panic seizes her chest, tight and shrieking, threatening to claw its way out of her throat, but she wrestles it back down with practiced skill, breathes deep, finds that cool stillness within her. The other Paladins are still weak from their last battle -- even fighting together, Shiro would gravely injure at least one of them, or worse.

Only she can do this.

Allura charges forward, hoping to take him by surprise before Shiro can do the same. He blocks a punch headed towards his midsection; she moves nimbly out of the way of the returning slash of his glowing hand. She follows, quickly, with a kick to the same side -- he blocks that, too, and she presses, tests against his strength as much as she dares, the intensity of the heat of his arm, though less than his hand, difficult to bear.

It's similar to what she remembers from their sparring bouts, and she takes small comfort in that, that he did, truly, always use his full strength against her.

She drops her leg and ducks low under a wild swing, fires back one of her own. Shiro moves away, but her first still makes grazing contact with his ribs; he grunts with the impact and brings up a knee before she can follow through. Allura backs up, out of range, and circles him from a wary distance.

She's stronger, perhaps a little faster, but she knows from experience that Shiro is agile, skilled, and very, very clever. But even ten thousand sparring matches couldn't have given her any idea what he would do if he was earnestly trying to kill her. There is still a faint hint of a familiar rhythm in his movements, but it’s nothing that can give her a true advantage, or predict what his next move might be.

It will have to be enough.

Shiro closes the distance fast enough to surprise her; she warily tracks the glow of his hand. It's a feint, she realizes, too late, and his left hook catches her hard in the side. The breath explodes from her lungs but she doesn’t allow it to slow her: she spins with the blow, swings an elbow towards his shoulder. He pulls away, a miss, but it gives her space, time, and she catches three quick breaths, enough to allow her move again freely.

Shiro lunges forward again -- she moves, barely in time. A rush of heat just grazes the tip of her ear, and a loose strand of her hair ignites and vaporizes in the same instant. Allura rolls away, springs back to a stance, ignoring the burning sting as best she can.

This needs to end, now.

Allura drops low, to the ground, uses all of her strength to slam her shoulders into his torso, grunting with the effort. He roars in fury and she pushes her sudden advantage, slamming him, hard as she can, into the wall. She pins him there, rolling him so his right arm is stuck behind him -- he screams, burned by his own hand for an instant -- presses her forearm hard against his throat.

His left hand claws painfully at the meat of her upper arm, but she doesn't let go, presses her full weight until there's barely any space between them. His breath is hot and moist on her face and he bellows out garbled, furious yells, but she doesn't let up, pinning his body with her own as he struggles wildly against her.

His movements slow as he chokes and gags and screams. Shiro’s grip on her arm goes from iron tight to loose to nothing, until his left hand falls limply to his side. The red fire dims, then leaves his eyes.

“Allura?” His voice scrapes out of his throat, hoarse, confused. She relents immediately, wide-eyed, taking her arm away.

“Shiro,” she whispers, and her relief makes his name thick on her tongue. He stares at her, eyes wild, and his breathing becomes erratic, too fast even for exertion. She’s still close enough to feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against hers. “Shiro, _relax_ \--”

“Are they--did I--?”

Her heart aches. “The other Paladins are fine,” she tells him, but it doesn’t seem to help. His breath is coming in rough hiccups now, barely breath at all. “Please, Shiro, try to calm down.”

“ _Please_ ,” he chokes out, “ _don't let me_ \--”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a red-purple glow.

It's too late -- she moves but his hand still catches her right side, just below her ribcage, and she screams in sudden agony. A spike of adrenaline hits and she moves with it, scrambling backwards, away from him, desperate to gain distance.

Numbly, she looks up from the blood blackened sear of her wound, and their eyes meet. Shiro has fallen onto his knees. He looks back at her in absolute terror, helpless, until the red glow swallows his eyes again and his face twists back into fury.

The air smells of burning flesh and there's a rhythmic pounding on the door, now: they must have heard her scream. Her vision greys at the corners and she stumbles when she tries to move.

_You fool._

She wanted so badly for this to be over, for him to _come back._ She had been careless, desperate, _stupid_. Now the mistake might kill her.

The monster in his mind quickly presses his advantage, and it's all she can do to duck and twist out of his range, stifling another cry of pain. Her heart slams against her ribs, her lungs are burning, and the burn sends shrieking stabs of pain with every move she makes, but still she moves, weaving ever backwards, avoiding the worst of his relentless assault.

Allura clings to desperately consciousness, her mind focused on breathing, standing, moving, but it isn't enough. The blackness on the edge of her vision is growing rapidly, making it nearly impossible to see. He edges closer, and she can feel the heat of his hand on her skin like a blast furnace, scorching, burning --

A roar sounds from deep inside the castle, loud enough she can feel it rumble through her bones. The Black Lion, she realizes, dazed, and Shiro abruptly withdraws, the light fading from his hand. He doubles over, screaming, pressing both hands to the sides of his head.

Allura takes the opening.

Hand still clamped to her seared flesh, she charges forward, roaring loud enough to match the Lion. The kick connects with the left side of his head -- his body crumples immediately and the force of it throws him into the wall. His helmet cracks, loudly, when he hits the ground, and he does not move.

The Lion falls silent.

Allura falls to her knees, gasping for sweet, cool air to quell the dry fire in her throat, and every inch of her is shaking and drenched with sweat.

She's killed him.

The thought is a knife in her spine. With effort and strength she didn't know was left, she struggles to her feet, swaying wildly, stumbles, until she's at his side. Her knees bite into the floor once again when she falls, but it's a pain she barely feels, numb with fear and the last stings of adrenaline. With trembling hands she rolls him towards her -- he's breathing, breathing, _breathing_ , and the storm inside her stills. There's an enormous, angry bruise forming on his temple and a long gash down the side of his face, but he's still breathing, still alive.

Still here.

“Good,” she says hoarsely to no one at all. Then she collapses.

She watches watching the rise and fall of his chest from her place on the floor for a hazy eternity. The knife-stab of pain slowly numbs, her skin grows cold. Faintly, she can hear a loud shriek of crumpling metal, hurried footsteps, worried, frantic yells. She's dimly aware of a horrified Coran roughly grabbing her shoulders, lifting her up to her knees. She winces when he shouts for the other Paladins without turning his head. She tries to give him a small, shaking smile, to tell him that she’s fine, because it feels like the right thing to say even though it isn't true.

The world fades, twisting gently away. Everything grows gray and quiet, and Allura slips into dark, dreamless nothing.


	2. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops yeah this is done sorry
> 
> I added some new tags. Please mind these if anything in there will affect you! 
> 
> This chapter is also not safe for those who have emetophobia.

“ _ Allura _ ,” is the first thing out of his mouth when Shiro wakes from the healing pod -- it takes the combined efforts of Lance and Hunk and Pidge  _ and  _ Keith to hold him back and keep him from staggering out of it. He tries to push past them, their outlines twisting into long claws and yellow eyes. Panic lances through his tired, battered body; his heart pounds loudly in his ears, and a crackling, whirling darkness presses in on either side of his vision. But Shiro fights to breathe even again, stops struggling. He waits until the shadows pass and they're his friends once more.

“Allura,” he rasps again, his throat raw and sore. He swallows. It doesn’t help. 

“She's fine,” Pidge says, and the relief is thick enough to kill him. Hunk presses a cup of water into his hands and he downs it in seconds, the liquid blissfully cool against the dry, jagged heat in his throat.

When Hunk takes the empty cup back, Shiro tries, and fails, to check all of them for injuries. “Everyone else is okay?” 

“We're good,” Lance says, but his smile is forced. Shiro closes his eyes for a second, takes a breath.

“And am I safe?”

No one answers for a long moment, which is perfectly telling. He almost laughs.

“Allura thinks so,” Pidge says, haltingly, “The Black Lion did something to you when --” She stops abruptly, swallows. “When…”

“When I attacked you,” he finishes for her.  _ When I tried to kill you.  _

_ Monster.  _ Something hot and sick claws savagely at his stomach, but he grits his teeth and grips it tight and forces it down. His team is hurt and confused. Right now, they need a leader, not a mess, and he’s still their leader.

At least, for now.

“That wasn't you,” Keith says quickly, stepping forward. He sounds almost angry. Like he’s already had to convince someone. “We all know that wasn't you.”

But it was him. Trapped and helpless, behind his eyes, but still him, raging, breaking, burning. He remembers the smell of burning hair and skin and the deep blue of Allura’s eyes, being close enough so he could see the little pink flecks of color within them. 

He remembers hearing her scream.

_ Monster, you monster, you -- _

Shiro breathes deep, tries to quiet his mind, moves to press the cool steel of his hand against his forehead -- and starts with the belated realization that his right arm isn’t there. Hunk laughs nervously when he blinks up in surprise.

“I, uh, thought it might be best if we took it off,” Hunk says, sheepish, “I mean, we weren't sure if --”

“You made the right call,” Shiro interrupts to assure him, and he means it, but Hunk doesn't look any less ashamed.

They ease him out of the pod. His legs are unsteady, and they move him slow, until he can sit on the floor. He shivers, suddenly cold, and Pidge awkwardly wraps a blanket around his shoulders.

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence.

“You don’t have to stay here,” he tells them, makes himself smile, “I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”

The Paladins exchange nervous glances. Lance looks back at him, clearly concerned. “Shiro, we --”

“I need some time alone,” he says. It’s almost a command, so he softens it with a, “Please.”

Lance’s brows knit together, and it looks like he’s going to say something more, but Keith puts a hand on his shoulder and Lance sighs heavily instead. They all give him long, worried looks when they cross through the doorway, shuffling out of the room.

The doors slide shut and, immediately, he lurches forward, past his knees, and nearly vomits.

Nothing comes up but it doesn’t stop him from retching over and over again, his pulse screaming static in his ears, breathing short, desperate gasps in a vain attempt to get himself back under control. The memory is fuzzy and broken, hard to see through the noxious, choking rage, but he remembers. He knows. He almost killed them, _would have killed them,_ if Allura hadn’t been right there, if she hadn’t stopped him.

He almost killed her, too.

The dry heaves pull a noise instead up his throat and out of his mouth, something between a sob and a low whine. Allura, fearless and strong: a shrewd tactician and an unstoppable force, driving them ever forward. Allura, who also happened to be  _ gorgeous _ , beautiful brown skin and starlight hair, the brilliant topic of a thousand embarrassing, idiotic daydreams: holding her close, making her laugh, warm and breathless and  _ happy _ .

_ Princess _ , he had to remind himself, when she smiled, when she moved to stand near him, when she breathed,  _ call her Princess, by her title, keep your distance, you’re fighting a  _ war _ , reign it in, like you’d even have a  _ chance.

It worked, mostly. There were...flutters, but he could ignore them, push them firmly out of his mind, focus on the task at hand. It worked, mostly, until she plucked him up like he weighed next to nothing and threw him into an escape pod. Until she was consumed by an avalanche of a hundred metal claws. Until gave him a tight, confident smile while he stared back in complete and utter terror, pulled back, pulled away.

She trusted that they would somehow be able to go on without her. That  _ he  _ would be able to go on without her.

She’d never been more wrong. 

From there on out, trying to strangle what he was feeling, drown it in duty, none of it was doing the trick anymore. He kept finding excuses to stay close to her, each one thinner than the last. He felt like an idiot, giddy with awkward terror just trying to keep his voice even when she was next to him. Keith even caught him staring, more than once, but was kind enough not bring it up. He felt he was being crushingly, stupidly obvious, barely able to hide it, but no one else seemed to notice, and Allura certainly never said anything. It was bad, getting worse, up to the point where he had started wrenching himself away from her, as though being out of her presence would be enough to make it stop.

That didn't work, either.

_ I cannot sleep. Zarkon is out there. He's searching for us. _

He remembers Allura's voice was taut and focused, but fraying at the edges, and he only noticed that because he’d heard it before, in his own. He caught her hand gently with his before she could bring up a new display - his metal hand, out of instinct, but she didn’t recoil from it.

_ I know how you feel _ , he told her, but he didn’t, not really. He didn't know what it was like to wake up after an eternity and be told you’ve lost  _ everything _ , he didn’t know what it was like to never have a home to go back to. Even now, he has  _ no idea  _ how she keeps going, pressing forward, through all of that terrible, impossible grief. But he did know this much: this crushing feeling of not doing enough, doing too much, being stretched beyond breaking but never letting anyone else see. Her expression softened at his touch and his heart skipped a dozen beats, chest filling up with something sharp and dizzying and nearly painful. 

Now, though, the memory turns. In his mind, he doesn’t let go of her hand, tightening his grip instead. This time, the gentle ache inside his chest sours into something sick and furious. His hand glows and Allura screams and everything is burning.

_ You hurt her. You almost killed her. Monster, you  _ **_monster_ ** _ , you -- _

A presence fills his mind, pulls him out the miserable pit he's trapped in before he’s lost. It's more than a feeling, less than a thought: an enormous, quiet strength too vast for him to comprehend. The Black Lion, he realizes, and he clings to her like a life raft in a storm.

_ Don’t leave me,  _ he begs, desperate and shaking,  _ Please don’t leave me. _

She is silent for a long moment, unfathomable and massive, and then, slowly, slowly, she coils around him, keeping him close. The knife-edge of panic dims and fades and the tightness in his chest loosens enough so he can breathe again. When he closes his eyes, he’s lifted up, up, up, suspended, weightless, in a soothing, tranquil darkness.

For a blissful minute, he doesn’t feel anything other than calm. 

There’s a soft chime as the doors slide open. It shocks him out of the brief reprieve and he feels the Black Lion recede slowly from his mind. He scrambles wildly to keep the mental link in place -- the Lion sends a gentle, reassuring pulse in reply, her strength still present, but weaker, now.

Allura and Coran enter the infirmary.

He won't ever forget the way Coran looks at him as long as he lives, but it’s brief, at least; Coran breaks the eye contact quickly, heaves a heavy, weary sigh, and after that all he looks is  _ tired _ . Allura is dressed in her long, flowing gown he knows she wears to sleep in. There’s an obvious lump of bandages underneath the silky fabric and she’s clutching at her side, and he wants to crawl away into a corner to die.

Coran steps back and leaves abruptly without a single word or a backwards glance -- maybe he doesn’t trust himself to linger. He’s probably waiting right outside the door, just in case. Shiro can’t blame him. It’s the same thing he would’ve done.

Shiro straightens his spine and swallows and pushes aside the pinpricks of panic that start stabbing his brain raw. He must look especially pathetic, if he looks anything like he feels, sitting on the floor with a blanket halfway off his shoulders. At least the suit hides the worst of his scars. Belatedly, he remembers his arm is gone and tries to hide the stump with the blanket the best he can.

“Princess, you shouldn't --”

“'Be here?’” Something not quite a smile pulls at half her mouth. “If you think I’m leaving after the argument I had with Coran to get here, then you are sorely mistaken.”

To his alarm, she moves and slides down, slowly, to sit near him -- too close to to make him feel comfortable, too far to be reassuring. She doesn’t look at him, staring at her feet, hands in her lap.

He doesn’t know how to feel, let alone what to say. Every time he looks over at her, tries to say something, he sees her doubled over, her side charred and bloody. There’s a thin, uncertain smile on her face now, as she looks down at the floor. Guilt doesn’t even begin to cover this sick self-loathing he feels down to his very core. 

“I would tell you that you have nothing to feel sorry for,” Allura says, breaking the silence just before it becomes oppressive, “but I don’t think you would accept that. I want to say that I do not blame you, but I don’t think you would believe me.”

“Then why are you here?” He winces at his own words. It isn’t harsh, but it still comes out wrong. Sort of. He wants her to leave. He wants her to stay. 

She finally turns to face him at that, but she doesn’t look at him with surprise, or hurt. Allura instead locks eyes, her gaze hardened steel and deadly serious, and he’s pinned, helpless, beneath it.

“For you,” she says, “I’m here for you, Shiro.”

The breath catches in his throat.

She’s sitting close enough so he can catch the scent of her: quicksilver and what he thinks he remembers of lavender. He can remember the smell of burning hair and the feel of her skin cracking under the blistering, burning heat. He feels dizzy, weak and sick, wrestling painful, sparking bursts of affection that bubble under his skin with waves of churning, nauseous guilt. 

“I almost killed you,” Shiro says in a hoarse whisper, once he finally unsticks his throat. Her fingers flex against against her side but she doesn’t look away.

“You didn’t.” She says it with decisive finality, like that’s all she needs to say, like they can all move on, now. He wishes that was true.

“It was close,” he reminds her. It was close because whatever pulled him around like a puppet was cruel enough to trick her into letting her guard down; he doesn’t remember what he said when he was loose for that single, useless instant. Anything that came out of his mouth would’ve been nonsense, he hoped. She should’ve strangled him against that wall until he was out and locked him in the brig. He doesn’t want to think about why she didn’t.

Allura’s face breaks into a rough grin. “Not that close. And you were stopped before you could do any real damage.” His eyes flick down to her wound and the way she draws in her next breath means she noticed. “The Black Lion successfully intervened and broke the connection.”

“For now,” he says.

“For now,” she allows, reluctantly, “But we have time now to discover the root cause and find a permanent solution. The team still needs you.”

There’s a funny catch at the end of that sentence that cuts through her slow, deliberate calm, but he pretends not to notice.

“The team doesn’t need a liability,” Shiro says quietly.

Allura shifts, clearly uneasy, but her voice is firm. “You’re not a liability. What happened was…,” She trails off, bites at her bottom lip for a split-second. “It was --”

“Dangerous,” he interrupts.  _ Deadly. _ Allura starts protesting but he keeps going. “You’d be much safer if I wasn’t here. All of you,” he amends quickly.

“What is your plan, then?” Allura asks, her tone suddenly icy and her eyes narrowed, “You’ll just  _ leave _ ?”

He blinks, caught off guard, but just for a second. He isn’t going to be cowed into putting them all in danger, even by her. 

“What’s the alternative?” He’s raising his voice now, despite himself, “I stay here and you all live in constant fear I’ll try again?”

“Where will you go?” she demands, “Back to Earth? You could endanger your own people there. Another world, one that is abandoned? How would you survive? Would you take the Black Lion with you to get there, leave us completely unable to form Voltron even  _ if _ we somehow managed to find a new Paladin? You would damn everyone in the universe to suffer under Galra rule --”

“ _ I almost  _ killed _ you! _ ” He’s shouting at her now, standing suddenly without meaning to, but Allura doesn’t even flinch. The anger is hot and bitter and guilty, guilty,  _ guilty _ \-- he doesn’t deserve an ounce of her compassion, and she should know that. “You nearly died, because of  _ me _ , and we don’t even know  _ why _ , and you want me to stay here and act like nothing happened --”

“That is _ not _ what I’m trying to do,” Allura says, just as loud, springing to her feet. She winces as she does, hand back at her side, and his stomach lurches, “You attacked me, yes, but not of your own volition. The Galra -- ” 

“The Galra didn’t  _ burn _ you,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately, when her eyes widen, just a little, more than enough.

“I will not be baited into hating you,” she hisses, “Even if that’s what you want from me. Why can’t you --”

The doors chime, peeling open; for a split second, Shiro sees five worried, peering faces.

“ _ Override _ ,” Allura snarls and the doors slam back closed with an unusually loud  _ clang _ , “ _ We’re fine! _ ”

They stare awkwardly at each other, in the hollow, ringing silence that follows. It’s almost hilarious; he’d laugh, if he felt like he could ever again. She closes her eyes briefly, takes a deep breath. He rubs at the back of his neck with his hand and draws in a ragged one of his own.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before she can.

“No.” Allura shakes her head. “The fault is mine, please.” She glances away. “You’ve been through terrible things at the hands of the Galra, and to suffer through something like this after thinking you were free...” She swallows, eyes settling back on him. “My anger was misplaced. I was...afraid.”

“Afraid?” 

She nods, hesitantly. “I’ve already lost so much. My planet, my  _ people _ , the last remnant of my father…” Her voice is fraught with pain so raw his heart aches, “It hurts to even consider losing someone else that I…” She pauses. The markings on her face fade for just a moment from pink to a pale white. “Someone that I regard very highly.”

_ Regard very highly _ . Shiro blinks at her. Allura continues.

“I promise you I will not rest until we know you are safe,” she says, “And I promise you that you are always needed here.”

It’s reassuring in a way he didn’t realize he needed. But the guilt still squirms inside his guts, thick and terrible.

“I just...I keep thinking,” he says, low, trying to get the words out before he can stop himself, “What if I could have stopped it? What if I could have fought it, stopped it from taking hold? And I --” 

His voice breaks -- Allura’s eyes go wide with surprise, but he keeps going, forces the words past the thick lump in his throat, “I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t...I wasn’t strong enough. Weak.”

The words feel like expelling something poisonous; his throat feels freer, his chest less sore. There’s only silence, for a while, when he finishes, and Allura is staring at him; he can’t meet her gaze. He hears her step closer, then jolts at the unexpected weight of her hand resting on his right shoulder. After a moment, she smooths it up his collarbone, every inch of his skin sparking delicately at her touch, up his neck, until she’s gently cupping the side of his face with her hand, turning his head until he’s looking at her again.

She’s close enough that he can see the flecks of pink in the deep blue of her eyes. He can feel the heat of her, warm and bright and gentle. He can’t see anything but her, beautiful brown skin and starlight hair.

_ Allura. _   


“Takashi,” -- his name, perfect on her tongue -- “you are far from weak.”

She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close.

It’s so sweet and tender and strong it hurts, a soft, terrible ache that floods his chest until he’s nearly bursting. He’s afraid at first, terrified, but she doesn’t let go. Eventually, he lets himself hold her, his hand trembling against her shoulders, tries to draw her closer even though there isn’t any space left between them. 

“It will be alright,” she whispers, feather-light against his ear, and he squeezes his eyes shut and holds on to her and this, just this, just once, just for a little while.

Maybe it will.


End file.
